


The only journey is the one within

by ferreuscelo



Series: Freba Series [5]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-09 00:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5519339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferreuscelo/pseuds/ferreuscelo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In order to understand the world, one has to turn away from it on occasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I was… thinking. There’s a place I want to show you.”

“That so?” She arches a brow, biting her lip to hide a smile. “Pretty sure I’d love to see it, if you don’t mind sharing it.”

So, the idea’s been there for a good while now. It’s something he has never done with anyone before, and it’s certainly one of his ‘treasures’, for his personal use, whenever he wants to escape the dullness of routine. But he knows that he’s a… particular man and that not many would enjoy his tastes. Reba, being a normal human being, wouldn’t anyways. But it doesn’t hurt to ask. “There’s… accommodation nearby. A resort in the forest, with a waterfall. We could spend a week there. I have… many days off I never used and I… think it would be interesting…” The man hides his face on her hair, like he usually does when he’s too shy to let something so intimate out. “…if you’d like to come with me.”

She blinks, caught off guard by so elaborate a proposition. Reba wonders if he’s been planning this, been practicing how to ask. Struggling to hide a grin, she nuzzles back against his cheek, “Hm? A week few days in a beautiful place, just us, relaxing….?” A bright pelt of laughter and she’s flushing with pride, pride for him, “If that’s an invitation, consider me a very adamant yes, Mr. D.”

“Good.” The man has been planning the event for a few days now. The date is precise. June the fifteenth. One day before his birthday and precisely one month together. He, of course, won’t tell her because he doesn’t want to turn it into an awkward date of sorts. It’s a gift for himself and he never had a decent one in his life, so this one must be pure, just like her. “Just the… two of us.” His gaze moves up to the ceiling where the dormant Dragon lies.

Yes. The two of them.

“Mhm.” She’s beaming now, wholly proud of him for working up what must have required tremendous courage to ask her, “Just us.” Reba snuggles against him then, planting tiny, quick kisses against his shoulder. “We’re gonna’ end up never wanting to come back, you know. We’ll just…run away into the woods and I’ll end up tripping a lot, and the people at Gateway will wonder what happened to us.” She laughs to assure him she’s only joking, reaching for his hand. “I’m really glad you asked me, honored even, if I’m allowed to say it.”

He catches her hand, moving it to his face because he can see it coming, and when she mentions that she’d trip, the magic happens and Reba McClane produces a smile on the scarred mouth, just for her. Her features soften as she feels his mouth shift, the rare gesture warm beneath her fingertips. God, he must look beautiful when he smiles and for that, Reba curls all the closer. “We’ll both end up with… bruises,” the man observes and sighs softly, deeply inhaling and causing his chest to rise with the woman’s ear glued to it. “Not from the woods, though.” He’s being extremely forward and the killer reflects on this. He’s making a fool out of himself, he knows it, but she likes it. And while it remains their secret, everything’s alright with the world.

A brow arches at mention of bruises, but it’s immediately followed by a wry grin. “Why, Mr. Dolarhyde,” she gasps in mock confusion, “And here I thought you were going to make an honest woman out of me.”

“Far from the truth.” A good woman? She already is a decent one, someone too good to be surrounded by the idiots who just want her for sex. She’s much more than a delightful body to fuck. No. She must be admired in her entirety. You can’t ‘like’ parts of her, you need to admire her fully, like a precious piece of art.

She can’t hold the charade for long and laughs, nuzzling against his neck. “Will you describe everything to me, so I can try and picture it?”

“I can tell you that it’s really refreshing in the summer, and the green of the leaves shine brighter with the sunlight filtering through the foliage of the trees. But in winter the snow on the pines remind you of…” Dolarhyde tries to not make it sound so dull. “Lemon ice-cream.” He immediately regrets it. He sounded so ridiculous that he should start hitting his head against the wall for such stupidity.

Reba settles against him as he speaks, closing her eyes and focusing intently. She can remember next to nothing from when she was a girl, but she can see other things in her mind, can notice what other’s overlook, just like he can. A slow smile crosses over her face at his words, mind rushing as it works to temper together sensations to fit his description. She hums contently, smile shifting into a grin. “I love it when you talk about things, you know, because I… I can’t see it, not the way you do, but I think I can feel it somehow, because of how beautifully you talk about things.”

His breath’s suddenly cut and his heart skips a beat at her words. And it’s not only for the warmth inside Dolarhyde but also out of fear. She’s saying too much, making him doubt of everything and even if she means well, it’s confusing. But he tries to hide it well. The man’s fingertips move up and down her spine, ‘walking’ on her vertebrae as he thinks for a good reply. “I… “ No, wrong wording. Try again. “If you want to see what I see, you’ll have to use my filter.” Not entirely true. His view is generally pessimistic on everything but not with things he can appreciate, such as art. And in nature he can find things akin to art because, after all, art imitates life. One he watches from a different dimension.

His speech falters a bit and she presses a kiss against his shoulder, a silent display of encouragement. He always struggles a bit when he’s upset or thinking a great and Reba knows to be quiet, to allow him to take his time. “I like your filter,” She replies firmly, “I don’t much care for anyone else’s. The way you see the world is beautiful.”

He has to stop himself from laughing at her statement. The way he sees the world is the most corrupted anyone could think of. But he doesn’t offer that to her because only an idiot would do it and he’s none of that. She deserves the best, only the best even if he must lie to please her. “Sometimes you won’t like what I see.” An ounce of truth there, a warning. A premonition perhaps, for her to consider, though he doesn’t believe she will considering how blindly she trusts him.

“You’re making assumptions,” She replies quietly and there’s not annoyance in her tone, not in the slightest, but there is a calm, soft reminder. He’s guessing at her, “I can decide what I like when I see it, babe.” The affectionate name slips out before she can help it and she hopes it doesn’t bother him. (She knows it probably will).

He blinks twice at the nickname but allows it. He doesn’t truly mind it but it feels weird to be called like that. It’s been used back during the war by the whores he fucked but it was a matter of convenience, because prostitutes never use first names for their clients. It’s different with her. It’s real.

A hand moves to his, taking his fingers and pressing them to her lips. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, pondering on how is it possible for her to see him as someone who’s worth her attention.

Reba snorts lightly,taking his hand again and placing a soft kiss on each knuckle. “Why wouldn’t I? You’re very kind to me and-, and very kind in general, and you’re thoughtful and surprise me every time I think I’ve understood you. You make me happy, every little second I get to be with you. Of course I’m lucky.”

“I’m not kind,” he answers quickly, and he doesn’t care if it confuses her. “What you see in me makes you happy, but I’m not the Idealistic Prince you believe I… am.” Far, far from that. He’s being an asshole, but also honest. And that’s the best he can offer.

Reba sits upright then and gently takes his face in both hands, thumbs resting against his cheeks. “I see a whole lot of things, Francis, and not all of them are perfect, but I’m not perfect either. No one is. And let me tell you something, everything that I do see, flaws and all, I happen to very much like.”

When she touches him, he rejects the touch at first because her words are once more, shocking for someone so used to being scolded in these situations. He simply recoils briefly at her touch. Flinches against her fingertips. She’s used to this from him and while normal courtesy calls for not touching someone unless they wish it, Reba knows this isn’t normal. Francis flinches not because he doesn’t care to be touched, but simply because he isn’t used to it. She’ll touch him all the more for that. Dolarhyde leans for a chaste kiss and closes his eyes for a moment. “You have a particularly weird taste in people,” he states, faintly smiling against her mouth before leaning back to his original position. “But you’re brave to… make an effort to see me.” He somehow appreciates it, but it also scares him to death.

“Brave?” Reba gives a quick shake of her head. “Nah, I’m not brave. You have to be afraid in order to be brave and I’m not afraid. I just…see things better than others do.” She shrugs lightly, lips twisting into a smirk. “You think if I was afraid I’d go off on a lovely vacation with you to the middle of the woods? A vacation hopefully involving no small amount of sex?”

Fear. She should keep it deep in her heart for he doesn’t know what may happen in the future. Dolarhyde is actually the one who’s worried about it, and she’s so careless about everything but him. She trusts him, she shouldn’t, and she knows this because any rational person wouldn’t do it with someone they barely know. But she’s driven but something stronger, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge on his end. “Among other things,” he states, because of course, he’s not ruling out the possibility of being entangled between the sheets most of the time.

She snorts lightly, leaning into him once more. “Yes, amongst other things, don’t you worry about that. I haven’t been-, I don’t know how to put it, outside in years. Like, really outside, I guess, because canes can only do so much. This’ll be perfect.”

“The complex has a… private lake with swans. You could feed them. They are… big birds. Not like those in your backyard but close,” he observes.

She smiles at that, closing her eyes and leaning her head in that space between his neck and shoulder she’s grown so fond of. “Really?” The smile widens into a grin and Reba nestles closer, reaching for his hand. He’s remembered her birds, thinks of her and all her strange little habits enough to factor them into his considerations. “You better come and feed them with me, then,” She laces their fingers together. His hand is far larger than her own and she likes the feeling of his calluses, “My birds liked you a lot, I’m sure these will, too.”

For her, he’ll do it. Feed the stupid birds that people apparently are so infatuated with. But she likes it and he’ll describe them to her in detail, probably grab one to keep it close so she can feel it with her fingertips. He’s never cared about going on a holiday, least of all with someone else and especially when in his mind the man’s imagining scenarios for both of them. “They like me because I fed them.” The man cracks a ghost of a smile. “Would you… like me more if I cooked more often?” Oh look, a joke.

She bites the corner of her lip to try and hide back a grin but it glows through all the same. Her features light up with amusement and Reba nips lightly at his shoulder, “Has anyone ever told you how stinkin’ cute you can be sometimes? Because you are. It’s perfect.” He’s perfect, of course, even for all his flaws Reba feels nothing less than wonder for him.

Cute. The mere idea of the word makes him sick but he can’t tell her that. Dolarhyde hums lightly as she nips his shoulder and secretly wishes she could bite him, taste his blood, toy with it with her tongue and swallow it. That way she’d have him inside in a different way. “I’m far from cute.” She should get the hint but no, impossible to know if s he ignores his ‘true’ self.

“I guess we’ll have to agree to disagree on that,” Reba smirks in return and wonders if anyone’s ever stopped to call him that, to offer him compliments as gentle and simple as the one she offers. She doubts it, remembers how adamant he had been the first time she had stated the others at Gateway thought him very handsome. He does that less now, doubts her when she says he’s beautiful, and her smirk softens for it. Gently stroking the pad of her thumb over his lip and scar, Reba leans to rest her forehead against his. “Can I help with anything? I’d like to, if there’s anything I can do.”

“I guess we’ll do whatever it takes to forget… about the world.” The resort where he’s planning to go with her is luxurious, and even if he doesn’t care for that kind of thing, she’s worth the effort. He has a good load of money despite his living conditions, since he doesn’t expend much monthly, only with new equipment and elements for his hunting nights. The man’s fingertips run over her neck, adoring her skin more than anything in this world. “Still, you should be careful. You don’t… know who I am.”

Reba shrugs and purses her lips together, his fingertips welcome against her skin. “I know that you like your coffee black and that you like sitting and seeing things, like taking in every detail. I also know you much prefer when I bring those cranberry scones in the mornings than the blueberry ones, even though you’re too polite to say so. I know you stop and think about everything you say, even though you don’t need to, because you sound perfect to me. I almost happen to know you like when I rub your shoulders after work because that’s where you put all that stress.” She nods then. “Don’t know you completely, no, but I think it’s a good start.”

She knows the man, part of it anyways and she’s deep with that part of him. It’s interesting because he gets to learn more about himself through her eyes than he has ever done in his life on his own. There’s little he knows about her, but he pays attention to everything unconsciously.  “I want to… know more about you.” And it’s the truth.

Laughing into his skin, Reba nuzzles him with a soft snort. “I’m not all that interesting, I don’t want you to be disappointed. You’re way more interesting than I am.”

“No, I’m not.” He’s not intending to make a ‘who’re more this or that’ contest, just stating a fact. Dolarhyde rests his lips on her forehead as he speaks, “I want to… explore you.”

She doesn’t flush at his next words, however, because for most it would seem sexual but Francis is different. He does explore, takes in her heartbeat and the curves and arches of her body like something to be treasured, memorized and protected. A hand goes up to cup lightly against his jaw. “I’d like to do the same. This…is what we need, for each other. I can’t wait.”

The man tilts his head to the side to nuzzle against her hand, loving the sensation of her digits on his scar. He has grown used to it, even if it’s still odd. “Soon.” Dolarhyde can’t wait either, for it will be a week to remember, no doubt.

_And you think things will go smoothly?_

No, they won’t. But he’ll do his best to quiet Him while with her. It’s different from taking her to his house where it’s His domain. “I’ll make the reservations.”

“Thank you,” She murmurs softly, nuzzling him after a pause, “Believe it or not, the blind tend not to be at the top of the list for ideal vacation partners. I... can’t remember the last time I really went on one.”

…

It takes him five minutes as soon as he reaches his home to make their reservations at the Cedar Woods Resort. A luxurious cabin, of course, not because she can visually appreciate it but because it has all the comfort she needs. It’s just an hour away from Springfield and even if he’ll drive the van, he doesn’t give a shit about his un-fancy transportation. All that matters is that this is his first birthday gift he’ll decently have in his entire life.

The scenery is breath taking. The cabins are divided by patches of greenery, with beautiful colors from the flowers that haven’t died yet due to the cold that’s covering everything. There’s a huge lake with boats, the hills and the woods, of course. She’s so excited she can barely contain herself as they drive to the resort. Her small hand slips into his, squeezing it tightly as she occasionally, not too often so as not to annoy him, asks him to describe the trees and hills around them as they drive further away from the city. Dolarhyde checks in and takes the woman’s hand to head to their room, relaxing and complete with kitchenette and all. There are birds everywhere and their singing will surely please her. “There are two steps before entering the cabin.”

Reba’s glad that he guides her towards their room, the sensations and sounds surrounding her nearly overwhelming. The sounds of home are familiar, dogs barking and car horns and rain against her windows, but there’s so many birds here and-, she smells fresh grass and-

“Got it,” Reba nods, biting the corner of her lip and stepping upwards. A cabin, a real cabin! Her hands grasp the door frame, wood smooth under her fingers, and she finally breaks into a grin. She waits for him to unlock the door and steps in, closing her eyes and focusing. It smells rustic somehow, old wood and it’s all good, different but entirely welcome. She moves forward slowly, arms extending to get a layout of the room, and Reba’s all but glowing now. “Oh my god, Francis-, this…this is perfect.”

“It’s okay. Will suffice.” It is a very comfortable cabin, and the man eyes the fireplace which will come really handy. “I’ll start the fire,” he announces, and it feels weird to do it every time he must engage himself into an activity, to let her know beforehand what he’s going to do. But it’s necessary. Little by little he’s learning her ways and it’s satisfactory for her, so it’s perfectly fine. Dolarhyde puts some wood together and in a couple of minutes starts the fire to keep the room warm. It’s still cold outside and a storm may strike any time now.

The man carries their luggage to the cabin and takes her hand to guide her to the bedroom slowly for her to continue her exploration of the place. “Bathroom’s at the end of the corridor. It’s… quite large and well stocked.” The bedroom’s nice too, and it will be surely be used the most. Not only for the obvious but for resting together. Be as lazy as they want.

She purses her lips to restrain herself from beaming as he leads her through the rest of the space, brow furrowed in concentration as she mentally maps the layout. 15 steps to the bathroom; sink on the left. Light switch on the right to leave it bright for him, (even if he says he doesn’t mind the dark). Reba nods to let him know she’s listening, she’s memorizing it as best she can, and when his hands graze her cheek she eagerly leans into his touch. “Alright,” She nods eagerly and sets her suitcase down, finding the cabinet and carefully hanging up her clothes. After a few moments, she hears the strike of a match and pauses, turning and slowly making her way over to him. The room is still foreign and she knows to be cautious, but her fingers find his shoulders as he kneels down in front of the fireplace. She gently massages his shoulders, then leans over and presses a kiss to the top of his head, his hair tickling the corners of her mouth. “Thank you for-, for all of this.”

She can’t stop herself from appreciating what he has done and it feels strange, because he’s never had anything like this before. “You’re welcome.” He’s not very eloquent but this is what he can muster right now. Perhaps he’ll improve with time? Who knows.

The back of Dolarhyde’s fingertips run over her cheek as his attention returns to her. “Would you like to… walk around to get to know the resort?” It seems like an interesting place and even if she can’t see it, she can experience it anyways with his help.

 “Yes-, absolutely,” Reba grins brightly and allows her arms to wrap around his waist, her head burrowing into that sacred space between his neck and his shoulder that she’s claimed for herself. (She’s claimed all of him, in truth, every inch). Her hands trail downwards to lace his fingers with her own, raising them to her lips as the fire lightly crackles. “Oh, and don’t you go snooping in my suitcase. I’ve got some secrets in there.”

Curiosity strikes him but he won’t peek. He’s very careful about his things and in return, he will respect her privacy even if he’s utterly enthusiastic to know what she’s concealing in her suitcase. “I won’t ask. I know you won’t… tell me.” He doesn’t know how secretive she may be, but he understands it. Somehow.

“Good,” Reba smirks and rewards him with another light kiss to his shoulder, “Because I’m not saying a word. You’ll get nothing out of me. Mr. Dolarhyde.” She won’t tell him a single thing, she’s determined, despite her excitement, to keep her secrets a secret and allow him the full surprise of her gifts. He deserves a good birthday, after all, for a lot of different reasons, and she’ll work to give him that.

He’s curious, and nervous too. He doesn’t take surprises well because he doesn’t like the unexpected. That happened when he was taken by Grandmother to Mr. Vogt’s campaign presentations and he’d speak, making a fool of himself and having no idea of what he was doing. Suddenly the idea’s not very appealing to him. Humiliation? No thanks. “Okay. Let’s go. Take your cane, the ground’s not all the same.” He offers his arm for her to grab it and they start their little adventure on the resort. He clears his throat. “There are cabins at the sides of a long pavement road with flowers and some trees at its sides. Orange, gold and green take most of the scenery around. The woods begin at the end of the path and the terrain goes up on a hill.”

They continue a little more and the man pauses at the lake. “There’s a dock with ships to navigate the lake. There’s a thin fog right now, probably due to the cold and humidity mixed together. It looks as if… one large cloud descended. It’s huge and the swans are now… bathing.” Dolarhyde watches as they splash their wings and sink their heads for a moment only to shake them afterwards in the surface. “They are pink, like the morning sky before the sun rises and quite large. There are also little ones…” He says, describing the stupid animals. They are pretty for the normal human eye, for him they are just plain stupid. They don’t have any use. Most birds are like that, anyways.

She sets her fingers around the grip of her cane and smiles when he offers her his arm before she can even reach for it. He understands how to help her now, how best to guide her along. It’s a simple gesture, yes, but she appreciates it deeply. Reba leans her head lightly into his shoulder, cheek resting against his jacket as they walk. He allows that, she suspects he likes it even, because it’s a sign they’re together for all to see, but not too bold as to make him uncomfortable. Her cane taps along and she nods, closing her eyes to take in the full sensation of the world around her and allow it to be colored by his descriptions.

A slow smile spreads over her face and she sucks in the cool air, utterly at peace. “It sounds beautiful, you make it sound beautiful.” Reba murmurs after a long moment, “I…I know it’s beautiful, even if I can’t see it, because it _feels_ beautiful.” She nuzzles into his jacket, drawing in a long, slow breath of contentment. “Would you like to walk around the lake? I know there’s a lot to see, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.” With that, her hand slips into his, fingers lacing their palms together.

He doesn’t mind that kind of contact from her. Resting her head against his shoulder is somehow uncomfortable but he can deal with it. Especially at a place like this, where no one knows them at all. And when she laces their palms together, things get real. Because he’s still absolutely self-conscious about this kind of gesture but she enjoys it and he’s split in what he must and wants to do. “Alright.”

They take a path made of woods set for the tourists around the lake and the man continues with his descriptions. “We’re bordering the lake, it’s quiet and reflects the few patches of blue in the sky, but it’s cloudy overall.” And he’s sure then that there will be a storm sooner or later, which is perfect to stay inside. He’s an indoors rat, can’t be exposed for too long on the outside, being work an exception and his night escapades something else.

Her shoes crunch against the path, striking up sounds far different than the carpet or pavement she’s used to back home. The air’s cooler here and Reba isn’t surprised to hear that it’s cloudy. It just seems cloudy somehow, the air ripples with it over her skin. It feels beautiful, chilly but fresh, and she squeezes his hand softly. “Do you think it’ll rain later?” Her cane taps against a fallen twig and she lightly steps over it. “It would be nice to settle in for the evening with the fireplace going, curl up and listen to the rain together. Bet it would sound amazing against that roof, even better than at your house.”

“It may.” Dolarhyde’s no expert, but of course, anything can happen with the weather nowadays. It’s the transition and even if the weather’s warmer from time to time, it’s still winter. “I’m sure you’ll complain if we stay inside during that period,” he says in a joking mode, which is utterly strange from him but then again, she’s picking up the little details that make him more human. And he hates that, because he simply hates himself.

She breaks into a quick grin, catching his joke. They’re impossibly rare, even more unknown than his smiles, but rarity means value. He tries, for her, and Reba pulls herself closer to him in reply. “We all have our weaknesses, Mr. D, I think you could find a whole lot worse than enjoying the sound of rain curling up with you,” A hand gently slides up and down his back as if too soothe him, her head still nestled against his chest.

Finding someone who shares a liking is great for the majority of the people. For Dolarhyde it’s a -miracle-. Because not only his shyness is the biggest issue here but his lack of people’s skills that turn him almost rude towards the rest don’t help at all. And there she goes, with something he loves and she encourages it. “You’ve found one. I don’t recommend you to search for more.” A comment, but also a warning. Figuring out his weaknesses is going to kill her.

Literally.

“There’s a fridge we’ll have to fill later, which will be easy because there’s a groceries store in the complex and a restaurant with a takeover service.” The price of the resort is expensive, really so, but worth the experience. Especially for her.

“If we stop by to get groceries and you help me get used to the kitchen, I’ll make you whatever you want. I like cooking for two, it’s more fun that way.” She smiles, looking upwards to convince him. It is more fun for two, of course, but it’s also his birthday tomorrow and she has every intention of spoiling him as much as she can.

“We could buy ingredients for breakfast for when we… don’t want to leave the bed.” And she obviously must know the reasons as to why would that happen. Besides, he’ll have his privacy to eat as much as he wants because he consumes quite a lot of calories to use them during the day with his workout. The idea of Reba cooking for him is appealing, because it’s the woman’s duty to serve her man after all or that’s what he’s believed most of his life. But for some reason he wants to help, wants to engage into something with her. It’s a sense of belonging, something he’s never had before. “I’ll help you.”

The wind becomes stronger and he frowns at it. She’s going to catch a cold. “Hold on,” he suggests, pausing their walk. The man takes off his jacket and puts it around her shoulders. She’s always cold and he’s warm all the time, so it’s fine really. Nothing special.

She blinks at the sudden weight on her shoulders, a gentle smile appearing on her lips as she realizes he’s put his jacket on her. Reba burrows into it, just as she had the first night in the van, and breathes in his scent. “Remember when you gave me your jacket? The first time you drove me home? That’s when I knew I liked you, thought it was the most courtesy thing anybody’s ever done for me.”

He remembers that night, how nervous he was, scared to death for the first human interaction he had for real in many years. How beautiful she was, how unreachable she seemed until she touched and kissed him. That perfect and scary night when everything started. “I didn’t mean to be a gentleman. It just… happened and…” She was so strikingly gorgeous, still is, of course. “I wasn’t going to watch you freeze in my van.”

”You did it without asking me, giving your jacket,” Reba hums softly and allows a hand to reach up to his jaw. She feels the tiniest prickle of stubble against her thumb, “You didn’t tiptoe. People do that a lot with me, with the blind. You saw I was cold and you helped me.” He’s helped her in more ways that just that, in ways she can’t quite fathom into words. He’s helped her feel, somehow, allowed her vulnerability, planted something small and delicate in her heart and nurtured it to bloom until now it’s spiraling through her ribs and singing in her blood and threatening to burst to the surface.

He did. Helped her, but he didn’t consider it a help back then but an honor, to the woman who has seen him as a human being and not a disgusting man. Dolarhyde moves his face to lightly bite her thumb and leans into her touch with a soft hum.

“Are you happy?” She doesn’t mean it to sound like an interrogation and her voice is soft enough to ensure that. “I can’t see your face, you know. Are you happy, Francis? Here? Away from everything? I am, very much so. Just you and I.”

Azure eyes move to her lips and cheeks, slightly pink now and he doesn’t know if it’s the heat of his jacket or blushing, but it doesn’t matter. How should he answer to that question. Happy. What the hell does happy mean? Is he happy taking lives? That’s work, not happiness. It’s meant for him to reach his Glory. But then again, is his Glory meant to bring him happiness? Becoming a God is a lonely path he can’t share. Not even with her. Dolarhyde pulls her close to his chest, pressing her against his body as if she could vanish at any moment. “Yes. Just you and I.” It’s not entirely true, but it’s something.

He’s quiet then and she waits. Reba closes her eyes, a soft smile dancing on her lips as she rests her head against his chest. She imagines she can feel his heartbeat against her cheek and even now the warmth of his embrace wards off the chill. “I know this trip is about us, babe, but I want it to be about you, too. Anything you want to do, we can do, and I’ll be more happy than you can imagine for it.” She’s not lying either. “And we can start with making whatever you want for dinner.”

That nickname again, and even if it still feels odd, it’s not bad either. It’s as if he was pretending to be a normal ‘boyfriend.’

_Don’t be ridiculous, cunt face._

She’s generous and kindness leaves her body through every pore of her frame. Dolarhyde keeps cradling her head against his chest and strokes her hair gently. Anything he wants to do. The temptation will be grand. It’s full of families and he knew he’d have to fight his instincts when he hired the resort’s services. Yes, it is about him in part. Perhaps he’ll find interesting candidates to be changed. Because why not, pleasure and work can be combined. Clearly he recognizes that while this is a vacation for both, a chance to walk and experience the world away from the streetlights and slushy streets they know so well, this is also a chance for them to learn each other better physically. Reba knows what he likes by now, of course, where to kiss and stroke and touch, but there’s a clear need between them both. He’s been denied love, of that she has no doubt, and only of late does he no longer trembles under her touch. Sex for them is more than just physical desire, though there’s no small amount of that, but a chance to offer intimacy and allow the vulnerability it requires to accept it.

“Groceries first,” he suddenly states. “Let’s go.”

The market is rather big, well stocked and with a large variety of exotic fruits, drinks and ingredients. There are also ready-to-go packages with basic dishes. Without realizing, Dolarhyde takes her hand as they cruise corridors, mostly so she won’t bump into anyone. He doesn’t realize about it but his barriers regarding his inhibitions are going down, and it’s a reality. Reba grins and steps on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek in return, folding eagerly into his embrace. Yes, tonight and tomorrow will be about him, starting with dinner and then with his birthday. He leads her to the store and she occasionally asks him about the source of a certain sound or smile, smiling when the deep voice quietly, thoughtfully offers descriptions to her. His speech comes easier with her than it does with others. Reba’s proud of that. It also does look ridiculous a man of his height and physique with a pink shopping basket hanging from his hand as they walk around. “No beverages. There’s plenty in the fridge.”

She keeps a little closer to him as the wander the aisles, grateful for his, and pauses when they reach the fruit. The vibrant scent hits her and she smiles, taking his hand gently. “Close your eyes for a moment, D,” Reba guides his hands next to his, slender fingers wrapping around his wrist, “You feel that? It’s a peach. They’re softer than nectarines and they smell…brighter, somehow. If your thumb gives just a bit, a whisper of a dent, then you know it’s ripe. You pick up all sorts of tricks like this when you have to.” She laughs and leans into him a bit, brimming with eagerness. “I can make you peach French toast for breakfast if you want.”

It’s ridiculous, and he doesn’t want to look like an idiot in front of so many people by closing his eyes. “Uh-huh.” But of course, his eyes are still open, alert actually on the people surrounding them. He watches as she takes his hand to move over the fruit and listens attentively. The man takes her hand with the fruit and lifts it to his large nose to smell it. The sweet mix of the peach mixed with her skin is interesting. Of course, she has to find her ways to the world in her disability and this is an interesting idea. “Let’s take… three then,” he states before dropping some on a plastic bag.

“Three it is,” She smiles and places them into the basket, cane tapping in front of her as they continue to move. Shopping with him is blissfully domestic, even if they’re both still getting accustomed to how to best work alongside the other, and it distantly occurs to Reba how much she’d like to experience the everyday with him. They spend a great deal of time together, yes, but there’s something to be said for the simple comfort of something as casual as shopping together, as waking up and having him in bed next to her, preparing meals for two. She’s fiercely independent, always has been, but the idea of him at her side, even through the monotonous, grows more and more appealing.

Things like those should be taught by grandmothers or mothers. But let’s not dwell on the subject. When he shops, he takes the best he can find but doesn’t bother much about the entire process of fine selecting. It’s just food. It serves its purpose.

Dolarhyde picks some berries too and off they go to the dairy products area to get some milk and butter. Suddenly, an old hag bumps into Reba’s side with her cart and the man pulls her closer. She recoils, moving into Francis and grasping tightly at him. She struggles to focus on the source of the noise, confused and caught off guard.

“Are you bl-…” Great. He was going to say ‘blind’ and he hopes she didn’t find the insult meant for her. “Watch your step. You almost threw her to the floor.”

“You two should check where you walk!” the old woman, past her sixties and wearing a blonde wig retorts.

Dolarhyde’s jaw goes tight. He takes Reba’s cane and holds it inches away from the woman’s face. “A white cane. See? Again, watch your -fucking- step.”

It doesn’t bother her that he nearly called her blind, but a swift burst of annoyance swells up in her at the woman’s reply. Opening her mouth to add something, she feels the cane yanked from her hand.

He’s not generally violent when finding a situation in which someone bumps into him or an accident like this happens. But this is Reba, and he swore he’d protect her. And protect her he will. No one is going to hurt her or put her into an uncomfortable situation. It’s an obsession now and he’s growing used to the idea little by little, in things he has no idea why he’s doing. Like jumping to the other woman to bite her head off.

“Tsk!” The rude woman walks away without even apologizing and Dolarhyde returns the cane to Reba, curling an arm then, around her shoulders from behind. This way, he’ll shield her from future incidents.

Reba’s very still then. She’s never heard Francis speak like that, hadn’t even thought his normally soft voice even capable of that sort of anger. It occurs to her that she’s never heard him truly angry before her. Upset, perhaps, and there’s been more than a few times when he’s trembled with frustration and anxiety and she’s offered him her touch to ease it, but this is different. “Francis-,” Reba hears the woman’s footsteps quiet and she shifts, resting a hand against his stomach to soothe him, “It’s ok. She… she was an asshole, but it’s alright.” Reba attempts a small smile, her ribs a bit sore from the unexpected shove of the cart, and leans her head into his shoulders. “Lets just…let’s just get what we need and get away from her, how’s that sound?” She takes a carton of milk for them both, feeling the burning anger pent up in him, and smiles again.

Dolarhyde’s palm goes straight where the woman’s cart hit Reba and rests there, as if he could decide if it hurts or not. The man throws a final nasty look towards the whore’s direction because she will pay. One way or another. Some people look at the old bitch and talk with each other before returning their attention to their matters. Yes, he’ll get revenge. And he’ll make himself sure it gets as painful as it can without raising too much suspicion. “Let’s go back.” The couple picks up some extra items and the man pays before exiting back to their cabin.

It’s getting darker and it’s just past six thirty but winter makes the days go shorter. She’s glad that he agrees to leave, pursing her lips together tightly and nodding in agreement. Reba wants away from this space, away from the woman and in a place where it can be just the two of them. It’s strange to consider the tiny marks they leave on each other. She’s adapted to him, adapted because of him perhaps. Reba finds that after a good while out she requires some space to herself, a place to breathe and think away from any gaze that doesn’t belong to him. She needs that now, their privacy, to draw him into her and kiss him to coax his soft, deep voice back once more.

Reba slips her hand into his once they leave the store, slender fingers lacing around his. It’s comforting to have him there, an anchor, a fixed point in an otherwise altogether unfamiliar setting. Beautiful as it is, it’s unknown, but he’s there and the worry knotting in her stomach over the woman in the store fades as he leads her into their cabin. The very few street lights on the main road are on and the rest falls in the dark.

Dolarhyde takes the fruits and puts them in a basket over the kitchenette’s counter before moving back behind the woman and resting his body against her back. He takes one of her hands and presses it over her cheek and then to the top cupboard, not too far away from her face. He has read that blind need their own body as a guide to measure the rest of the world. It’s all in a book he purchased some days ago at the local bookstore, on living the life of visually impaired people and their secrets. The book’s full of marks he’s left with old films on key pages. Much like his scrapbook album.

“That’s a cupboard. And here…” he says, before taking her left hand and wrapping his fingers around it, “there’s the electric oven.” He guides her fingertips to caress the surface. “There’s a black wide line around its edge that will stay cool if you touch it, just so you can get an idea of its dimension before you use it. In the cupboard there are the dishes on the right…” he states before opening it and resting her hand on the china, “and the glasses on your left. There are twelve of them. This… was meant for a larger family.” It’s huge for just two, but he wanted the best for her and it is, after all, the most expensive of all the cabins, with its private dock and all.

She moves to help put the groceries away as best she can, pausing as Francis slips close to her. Biting a lip to hide a smile, Reba focuses intently as he guides her through the layout of the kitchen. It occurs to her suddenly that she’s never told him to do this, take her hands and have her feel out the space for herself.

He’s looked up how to interact with the blind. On his own, with no coaxing from her, no hint or request, he’s gone and learned how to make her more comfortable. How to understand her.  No one does that for her, no one has for a very long time and her throat burns as she realizes she could cry from the tenderness of it. Francis wants to understand her, not out of pity, no, but perhaps out of the silent, resonating understanding between them.

He’s never cared about helping anyone at all, for the simple reason that no one ever did that with him. Except Queen Mother Bailey, but that was a while ago. He remembers her tender hugs and his face buried against her chest, content that someone would truly care about him. That is, until she betrayed him. Those memories have a bittersweet taste he’ll never get over with. Dolarhyde’s arms then curl around her waist and he hides his face against her hair, his favorite spot. Reba’s shirt is slowly lifted as the man’s hand creeps under the fabric to rest on her injured side. “There will be… a bruise here.”

She inhales as his hand slips under her shirt, more out of pleased surprise than pain. “It’s alright. Won’t be the first one, definitely won’t be the last, but-,” Reba turns with a smirk to face him, fingers finding his abdomen and sliding down to hook into the waist of his pants, “I don’t mind them all that much when they’re from you.”

His hands move from her stomach to her cheeks as she nuzzles against him and he closes his eyes, back into pure bliss, the one she can only bestow on him. “Do you want me to mark you?” he asks against her lips before leaning down for a gentle kiss. His attitude is so different from moments before when he could rip the woman’s head off her body. No one touches her like that but him, and no one damages her body unless it’s Dolarhyde. Her hands on his waist make him inhale deeply, trying to contain himself from burning with desire, because it’s too early for sex, and he wants her to enjoy everything, not only his body.

Reba hums into his kiss, smiling and leaning forward to brush her eyelashes against his cheek. “I wouldn’t mind it,” She confesses, a rare moment of shyness creeping into her words. Reba leans her head against his shoulder then, tugging him closer, “I mean, don’t go and just….punch me in the face or something, I don’t want that.” She grins and laughs, realizing she sounds a bit nervous. “But-,…I wouldn’t mind it, if you’re gentle with it. It’s just-, it’s something new and I think I’d like it because I trust you.” And she does, wholly and completely.

Reba tugs him closer, standing on her tiptoes to nuzzle lightly against him. “Thank you for helping me with the kitchen. You’re a good teacher, a really good one, you know that?”

He holds her then, one hand trailing down her spine but not pressing her tightly against him because he knows the area where the cart hit her must be hurting now. He exhales from his nose, much like an animal. “I’m not… very good. But practice makes the master.” He has covered his eyes with a napkin to do it back home, live in her world and even if he knows every inch of his house he still bumped against furniture and hit himself against the wall. Walking downstairs was something new too, for he didn’t know where it ended despite knowing the steps so well. He learned then that a hand on her abdomen as a containing barrier would make things easier for her, to feel more secure. 

The smile fades and Reba furrows her brow, tugging him closer still, “Come here,” Small hands trail up to cup his cheeks, her thumb tracing over his jaw. “Francis, do you realize that what you’re doing, no one else does?” She asks it genuinely, tilts her head lightly to the side, “You’re very good. You’re very good because no one else makes the effort; no one tries like you do. Practice makes perfect, yes, but you’re one of the few who even tries to practice.” She pauses, leaning forward to kiss his scar. “It means the world to me, you know that, right?”

He’s doing something no one ever did before? That fills the man’s chest with pride, and it impacts him more than those times she says he’s beautiful. He’s doing something right, and someone is appreciating it. This has no precedents because all he ever did was wrong or stupid for anyone to consider it right. “Okay,” he answers, voice deformed by her hands squeezing his cheeks with her palms. She kisses his scar and he catches her bottom lip between his to suckle on it, trying to grasp as much as he can from her in that moment of weakness. He supposes she understands that he’s not doing it for pity but because he is intrigued about her, and in her girly mind she must be thinking that he’s the sweetest man in the world. Far from the truth. Training in the dark is also useful for when he slides into his victim’s houses in the night. “I understand.” The ’s’ a bit stronger than usual. Perhaps it’s because she has disarmed him, like she does when she’s explaining him why is he important for her.

His words slip a bit and he’s never sounded more beautiful to her. Reba wonders if it’s because he’s nervous. No, he seems more at ease than he’s ever been, even more than when they spend the night at his home, and it occurs to her that perhaps he’s truly comfortable, relaxed enough to put his regular effort and thought into ever words. She smiles at that, liking the idea. With him, she can leave her cane folded in her purse, with her, he can speak however he pleases.

“You’re welcome.” He dons a half smile at her praise. He’s doing well, then, and it pleases her. “Don’t lie,” he requests as his mouth moves to her ear. “I may believe it.”

For her, he’d learn anything. Except how to properly love.

(He’s already doing it)

It’s easy to be honest with him, to allow her nervousness to be present but allow him to understand her desires all the same. Reba realizes it’s because he’s honest with her, because what they have it more than just shared trust, it’s a deep empathy, somehow, something akin to understanding. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn’t mean it, you know,” She teases, squirming as his mouth draws so close to her ear. Reba loves when his mouth dips lower, finds that delicate place just beneath her ear and kisses it. She supposes she has that to look forward to later.

She trusts him and he closes his eyes in ecstasy. She’s ridiculously naive to put her trust in him so blindly, no pun intended. If only those he changed would have trusted their lives to him to help with his becoming, perhaps then the process wouldn’t have been as painful as it was for them. They should have accepted who they were and the outcome would have been different, prettier than the displays he had set up after his crimes. Ah, the infinite possibilities. And there she is, Reba McClane offering herself like a willing virgin to be sacrificed to the sea monster. “I swore I’d protect you,” he reminds her.

For now.

It takes all the strength in the world for the man to push her gently off him and search for the elements to cook. “The frying pans are below your belly. It’s a large cupboard, you have to… watch your head when you kneel to get anything.”

She finally nods, releasing him from her grasp and turning to face the rest of the kitchen. “I can make you dinner if you let me know what you want. We could open some wine, too, to go with it.”

“Just… anything you want.” There isn’t much to work with, but he knows she’s eager to please him and that fills his ego greatly.

Reba’s hands move to slowly trace out the cabinet again, memorizing it. “You drove the whole way up here, go get a glass of wine and relax, babe.”

Dolarhyde picks an Argentinean Cabernet Sauvignon wine and pulls the cork out before pouring a glass for the woman and himself. He inhales into the rich aroma and guides her hand to reach the glass over the counter before lifting it close to his own. “To… us.” A small toast and the crystal glasses clink together.

_Us? You better mind what you say, boy._

Not now. Not here.

The rich scent of wine suddenly fills the room and she smirks, listening to their glasses fill. It’s impossibly romantic, this. A getaway with just the two of them in a wonderful little cabin, misty lakes and wine and a crackling fireplace. He guides her hand and her fingers wrap around the stem, smirk erupting into a grin. “To us,” She repeats. Eyes fluttering shut, Reba takes a sip of her wine, appreciating the body of it. He’s good with wine, Francis, and she’s in love enough to remark to herself that he seems just about good at everything.

The man sips into his wine and looks away. “I’ll be at the living-room. Twelve steps to your right, a stair with two steps and then ten more until you reach the couch. I’ll meet you there.”

She notes the steps he offers, but before he can go she tugs on the end of his shirt, pulling him close. Reba stands on her tiptoes and kisses him lightly. She can taste the wine and nips lightly at his bottom lip. “Enjoy the rest, Francis, you deserve it.”

Bewitched. That’s the most appropriate word he can use for himself after her light kiss. She pulled him towards her as if she owned him like a slave and god, isn’t he one. The brief brush of lips lingers and he doesn’t fight it back. She is the commander in charge. He allows it.

His feet take him away from her heading to the spot he indicated he’d be. The large black leather couch is very comfortable and the man watches as the fire consumes the wood, illuminating the room with its brilliance. Dolarhyde looks around the wooden cabinets in their bedroom for wool blankets to wrap themselves by the fire later, and returns to the couch where his thoughts invade him once more.

The floorboards creak and fade. Reba grins to herself, sneaking another sip of her wine before returning her attentions to the kitchen. She hears a distant roll of thunder and beams from ear to ear. Yes, she hopes it will storm after dinner, coat everything in fresh rain and allow them the comfort of listening to it together.

What is he doing here? Why is he lying to himself with this imitation of normal life he’s trying to pull? This honeymoon of sorts with someone he barely knows and may stab him in the back at any given moment? No, she wouldn’t do that, would she? Reba’s good. Reba makes him feel like a full man in bed and strong when they are walking side by side, like the woman’s shadow. Reba wouldn’t betray him.

There’s some noise in the kitchen and he returns to Earth, leaning back to rest his nape against the back of the couch, facing the dancing flames. He’s not hungry. He just wants her there, resting against him, admiring him, pampering and kissing him, worshiping his mere existence.

Her hands carefully work through the shopping bags and the kitchen, thinking of what her mother used to make for her father on his birthdays and special occasions. They had never been fancy meals, they couldn’t afford anything exceptionally fancy, but they had been prepared with detail and care, far more love than money put into it. She decides to do that same. Before long, the kitchen is rich with the scent of cooking vegetables and warm food. Reba sets aside two plates and carefully makes her way into the living room. God, he’s gone and rented out someplace large, no doubt impossibly expensive, but he’s done it for her, for them, and she appreciates that. There’s another roll of thunder, closer now, and she smiles as she reaches the couch. “Dinner’s ready if you are, D.”

Unconsciously, he watches her step just in case she trips, but she’s been trained and he has warned her about the stairs beforehand. When she reaches his side, the man picks his plate from her hand and leaves it over the rather large coffee table opposite the couch. “Thank you.”

The first raindrops hit the window panes. Dolarhyde inhales and smells the food she prepared. It’s twenty times better aesthetically presented than anything he could do and without waiting for her invitation, the man picks up a fork and begins devouring the vegetables eagerly. His mouth is half-full when he realizes that he hasn’t even thanked her for the food and he pauses before swallowing the half-masticated bite in his mouth. “This is… good.” So eloquent and well educated.

_You make me laugh. Animal. That’s what you are. An animal._

She likes that he’s comfortable enough with her to not try and hide what most might consider poor manners. He eats so quickly when they’re together that Reba finds she wonders if he had enough to eat growing up, if at any moment his food might have been snatched away from him that now he eats with a swift bit of determination. The thought makes her ache and she reaches up to gently stroke his cheek, fingers tracing over his short hair before she begins to eat herself. “Turned out ok, huh?” She swallows and smiles, taking another bite. Reba thinks of the few times they’ve gone out to eat. She knows it’s tortuous for him and even if Francis pretends otherwise, for her sake, she knows he barely eats except when they’re alone and can barely stand to do it in front of others. Yes, this is better. Just them, together. He can feel safe with her, safe enough to not worry about every gesture, and Reba knows him well enough to understand his trust is not easily won.

He takes his glass, sips into his red wine and proceeds to bestow a chaste kiss on her lips, wet with the savory liquid. “This is very good, really.” It’s probably, the most anyone has ever done for him. Especially someone that’s almost a stranger. But she hasn’t been one for a while now. She’s seen more of him than any other mortal in this life, and that which he allows to be seen is what attracts her towards him. It’s not lying. It’s omitting some things. Some -very- relevant things.

Who cares, she won’t live to tell.

And that scares him.

“I don’t think it turned out too bad myself, but I’m glad you enjoy it as much as I do.” Reba’s never been one to be overly domestic, though certainly she takes pride in having things together and accounted for, and never overfond of going out of her way to please men by way of domesticity, but Francis is different. This is more than gestures of docility, these are gestures of kindness and thoughtfulness he’s never had, ones she’s able to give to him. And she likes it, knowing he’s happy, even if he’s confused by it sometimes.

It wasn’t ordinary to see older children steal the younger their food at the orphanage, and some would even have to pay with favors to get their meal. Nobody truly controlled that, because the children are merely waiting there until they are old enough to leave on their own. Dolarhyde learned to eat whatever he could, and he had to do it fast before anyone stole his food. “It’s delicious.” There, that sounds better. She’s a good cook. Point made. Perhaps it’s not to keep his secret intact for now but for the fact that he has grown used to her presence and there’s no sound he enjoys most in the world than her heartbeat against his ear. She’s strong and yet so fragile in his arms. So easy to please. “Thank you.”

Another roll of thunder sounds and she jumps a bit, surprised by how close it sounds, then grins and nestles into him. “You’re welcome,” Reba murmurs softly in return, nuzzling into his neck. “I’m glad it’s just us, D. We…I like being with you, doing things with you. You make me very happy.” Blissfully happy, in truth. Reba moves to gather their plates once she hears his silverware fall silent, a small, thoughtful smile appearing. “Would you like to sit out on the porch with me for a few minutes to listen to the rain? I know it’s a little cold, but you always keep me warm.”

Just the two of them. He truly wishes that was true but He is always around, jealous of his attention. At any rate, he has decided to dedicate himself to her alone, his divine Being, the most beautiful of all the creatures in this world. Does she make him happy? Is this happiness, after all? It feels good. A different kind of good than killing, but good after all. He should tell her something like that because it’s important but how could he actually bring himself to say it if he’s unsure about the concept? “I’m glad.”

The man hums as a positive reply and helps her with the dishes. He picks a heavy, large blanket for both before heading to the porch and takes her hand in his to sit together. It’s a heavy rain, it’s chilling and he knows that she’s going to freeze. Dolarhyde sits on the comfortable large bench and pulls her close, wrapping the blanket around their shoulders to fight the cold.

There’s nobody outside. They are all inside by the fireplace laughing or watching TV. Families. Many families. A nightmare. But he has to focus. Thankfully their cabin is fairly away from the rest being it exclusive and far more luxurious than the rest. He doesn’t need much, but she’s not just any normal woman, and needs a certain comfort. And even if ‘normal’ sounds terrible in their situation, it’s a word that must be used. Because nothing with them is normal. A harelip and a blind. Normal is stupid. What they have is… perfection.


	2. Chapter 2

The cabin is still new to her, after all, and while she has a good enough understanding of it so far, Reba’s still nervous with corners and chairs and edges. So, of course, she’s grateful for the help. He guides her though, as he always does, and where his silence once gave her cause for concern, it only offers contentment. His silence is a display of it; Francis doesn’t need to speak to show his happiness. He reveals it in little ways, in hums and stolen kisses and gentle touches. His hand reaches for hers as the door to the porch swings open and Reba’s never loved him more than this. It’s cold outside and she shivers instantly, but her heart is surging and the blood in her veins is alight. She sits aside him and leans into him, nestling closer as the blanket folds over them. It doesn’t take long for the chill to fade. He exudes his perpetual heat and the blanket serves as a barrier, leaving her perfectly warm and utterly content. Reba closes her eyes and smiles, resting her head against his shoulder and neck.

“You warm enough, D?” She asks quietly, pressing a quick kiss against his collar. “I don’t want you to be cold.” Ever, she realizes, or sad or lonely or worst yet, alone. Her eyes flutter shut once more and she takes in the sound of the rain, a distant roll of thunder rippling around them. It’s beautiful, this, even if she can’t see it, she knows it is because she thinks it is.

“Yes.” It’s freezing but he’s used to deal with lower temperatures. He has trained for months to survive in the outdoors, and that includes below zero temperatures. Else, he wouldn’t be able to stand entirely naked in the snow for several minutes without turning himself into an ice cube.

She reaches up to gently brush her fingertips along his jaw, smiling absently as she takes in the edges of his face. “Remember when I told you I thought you might be the best thing that ever happened to me? I don’t think it anymore. I know it.” She doubts he’d truly be surprised by such confession, not after all they’ve shared, explored each other. It feels natural to tell him this and she wonders what it would be like to tell him the entire truth.

To be important for someone else is actually something anyone would accept with an open heart, with joy and gratitude but for him, something of that nature is incomprehensible. But whatever that is, he’s sure it means something akin to commitment, and that’s problematic. He’s to become One with the Dragon, and to be that powerful one must be lonely. But he has some time in the meantime to enjoy the joys of human life a little, right?

Right?

He watches her mouth as she speaks and the way the corners of her lips curve upwards when she smiles, the full lips stretching to form a beautiful, bright grin. “And how do you know that?” he asks. And the real question would be ‘how are you so sure I’m not going to kill you now?’ But truly, would he? Not in a million years. She became something of high relevance in his life and you don’t let those rare opportunities go just like that, especially when they are so rare to find.

She hums in consideration at that, pursing her lips together in thought. It’s a fair enough question and a million answers immediately spring to mind, but Reba knows this isn’t something deserving of a simple reply. This has to mean something, has to prove to him that she means it, just as she means everything she tells him. “I know it because you make me happy, happier than anything else.” She shifts a bit and kisses his thigh before her eyes flutter shut once more. “You don’t have to be doing anything, just…just be you. You make me feel happy and-, and safe, and wanted, like there’s nothing different about me.”

Reba’s quiet for a long moment then, listening to the rain pour on the roof above them, breathing in the chill night air. “People tend to get bored with the blind very quickly, you understand. It’s a novelty, at first, helping us. Makes people feel good about themselves, helping us around and reminding us where there are cracks in the sidewalk and where we left things if we forget.” She bites the corner of her lip, voice softening. “But they get tired of helping soon enough, the fun wears off. The blind become, I become more of a nuisance than a novelty. People fade away then, try and distance themselves slowly enough so as to hope I don’t notice. I always do.”

Sounds so easy coming from her mouth, and Dolarhyde can say he feels fairly at ease when she speaks something like that, as in keeping her safe. Despite his efforts on hiding the truth and making her believe he’s a proper gentleman with no secrets, he can strangely ‘be himself’, especially at the most intimate moments when he’s the most vulnerable. “I don’t know what is it that I do… but I’m glad.” His hand moves up and down her arm, trying to shield her from the icy air surrounding both.

She sighs then, an arm reaching up to trace over his knee and thigh. “You’re still here. I don’t want…I don’t want you to leave, not ever, Francis.”

**_I love you I love you I love you._ **

She hates pity and he has no pity for her or anyone. Living in the dark and depending on someone else’s kindness must be hell, and Dolarhyde can fairly understand it, even if he can’t empathize. It’s hard for him to connect to anyone but, unaware in regards to it, the woman has broken some barriers. Would he leave her, truly? Would he abandon her now? The idea’s been hammering in his head for a while now, but everything he does proves him otherwise. He wants her, he needs her and above everything else, she keeps him safe from Him. “I’m not going anywhere.” It’s a promise.

She curls into him, comforted by his touch, and allows herself to fall wholly into the quiet of the moment. The rain’s louder now, pounding against the roof, but she can hear it slipping onto the stones and plants beneath it, distant thunder crackling. Reba is warm despite the chill and utterly, perfectly content. She hadn’t necessarily expected Francis to be the sort of person who’d be fond of the outdoors, much less care to vacation in them, (truthfully it’s difficult to imagine him vacationing anywhere), but it’s evident he’s at peace now. Reba smiles at his assurance, knowing full well he means it. He doesn’t say anything he doesn’t mean, as if somehow a lie might singe his tongue, slip into his words and reveal itself. She appreciates the honesty, appreciates him and all of his idiosyncrasies. Strange, shy, beautiful, kind Francis Dolarhyde.

Reba gently swings her legs up onto the bench, laying down and curling up. Her head rests on his thigh and she tugs the corner of the blanket around her shoulder, careful to leave more than enough for him. “Is it beautiful right now, Francis? It feels beautiful.”

He inhales deeply, because he remembers what happened last time she was close to his groin, but he highly doubts she’d come with something like that in the open, even if the nearest cabin is a good couple of yards from where they are, and their spot is hidden in the privacy of the trees surrounding them. Dolarhyde’s hand goes to her black curls, stroking them gently and he looks up at the roof of the porch. “The raindrops are hanging from the trim of the roof, like translucent pearls one next to the other. And the green has a faint taint of gray that fights with the intense color underneath. The wood of the stairs and the veranda is dark, with a rich shade of red.” The man tries to find the words that can give her the idea of what she could sense surrounding her. “There’s a wooden lantern hanging close the edge, with amber colored glass around it, resembles a Chinese lamp of sorts, and it can be candle lit. Quite… useless.” he comments, because really, who the fuck needs a candle in the absolute darkness? You can’t even read with it. 

She falls silent again, another crack of thunder sending shivers up her spine. Reba curls all the more against him and beneath the blanket, heart racing. She could tell him now, because what she’s said is what most people would call love, but Francis isn’t most people. Words don’t mean enough, because words have been cruel to him. The world’s been cruel to him and she’s never wanted him more than now, needed to have him believe at least a fragment of her confession. She smiles again. “I love when you describe things. You notice little details, if you apparently don’t like ornamental lighting all the much.” Reba laughs quietly, nestling against him. “You make everything sound so beautiful I don’t even need to wish I could see it.”

“It’s the… best I can do.” Deep inside, a (twisted sometimes) poet lies in him and  he knows he can do better, but sometimes he wants to ‘show’ her so much that words are not enough. Not to mention that both love the rain and she deserves to know what surrounds them in detail, even if she can hear it. “Ornamental lighting,” he repeats, “I don’t…. understand their functionality.”

She can’t help but laugh at that, face scrunching in amusement, and she tugs on his shirt to pull him closer. A quick kiss is planted on his cheek and she nuzzles against his jaw, “Pretty things can be useless. I am, after all.” Reba laughs again, biting the corner of her lip to hide a grin. He’s the only recipient of jokes like that. She doesn’t self-deprecate in front of others, at least not so boldly as that, because she knows she’s already fighting to prove otherwise. No, she’s not useless and Francis understands that.

He understands her, they understand each other.

A frown, in the absence of laughter, shows up in his brow. She has to be joking because there’s no way he’s going to accept that statement. Reba is far from worthless; she has guts to face the impossible. Such as making a man out of him, pull a smile from his perpetual upset expression and awake the strangest feelings towards the woman. “If you’re useless, I’m blond and short,” he states, yet another lame attempt of a joke.

He worked to say something light for her and she knows it, weak as it may have been. They’re rare from him, more often than not clumsy, but she loves them terribly. Just as she loves him. She determines something then. She’ll tell him, the best way she can, a way hopefully he can understand.

Her fingers slowly begin to trace along his inner thighs, gentle, careful motions. “We’re each others. I never wanted that until I met you.” Reba sits up a bit now, lips finding his jaw and kissing just beneath it. A hand moves down to his belt and she begins to undo it, waiting for his approval.

His groin tingles at the motion. It’s so dangerous to do it here, and he wonders if she wants to ride or suck him. The scenery is beautiful, with the raindrops surrounding them and the sounds of the heavy rain. His breath quickens just a bit and the man guides her palm to cup his bulge, slowly growing erect. She has that instant effect on him.

He was cautious the first few times they were intimate, waiting for her more often than not to initiate, but now he trusts her, knows she trusts him. Her palm slowly rubs over him, encouraging his hardness, and she allows herself to lean into his neck. Reba begins kissing him slowly, feeling the pulse of his skin beneath her lips, and murmurs his name without thinking.

She knows no one’s ever touched him with the gentleness of her fingers, wanted him as wholly and fully. He’s been broken and bruised by others, Reba understands this, and while she can’t change that she can soothe him now. She can touch him with the love burning in her heart. Her hands move to finish undoing his belt then, quickly and with a fair amount of grace, and she tugs his pants and boxers down. Careful fingers stroke over him, light and slow, and without another word she leans down to take him into her mouth.

The faintest of sounds escape from the man’s mouth as he gets painfully hard at her soft touches. When her skin reaches contact with his member, he swallows hard and closes his eyes, wanting nothing more than to allow himself to be taken by her as much as she wants, use and abuse his body and gladly fall in her spell. Her mouth follows and Dolarhyde gasps, spreading his legs slightly for better access. His sex twitches against her hot lips, eyes tightly shut, and head tilted backwards, mouth agape. His breathing rhythm increases just a bit as she begins to move up and down, and there’s nothing he can do to avoid grabbing the edge of the bench tight while his free hand moves to her nape, trembling and restraining himself from pushing her deeper.

His gasp assures her she’s done well by initiating this and she hums lightly in response, fingernails tracing lightly over his muscled upper thighs. Francis is burning against her touch and she wants more it, wants him to moan and tremble for her actions. The desire is not to dominate, to use his pleasure as a means of pride for herself, but instead to simply give. Sometimes, she knows, when he doubts himself, Francis can barely believe she truly cares for him, wants to be with him more than just sexually. It breaks her heart to know that, but she understands.

She’s been hurt, just as he has, they’ll learn to believe together.

It’s never been just about the sex, unbelievably magnificent as it is. It’s been about him touching her like she’s the sun beneath his fingertips and his faint smiles stretched against her thumb. It’s her laughter against the crook of his neck, tiny kisses dotted over his collarbone. The togetherness. That’s what drives her now, what she pours into every motion offered.

For the many years of sexually repressed behavior, Dolarhyde finds himself in paradise. A woman who willingly touches him and aims to please the man because she wants him to feel good. And not just any woman. His palm goes to her back under the blanket and he caresses her spine slowly, encouraging her to not stop. He can feel her warm mouth bobbing against his wet manhood, and the sounds she elicits with her lips are maddening, so filthy and delicious.

 “R-…” He has to try. Must try. “Re-… ba.”

There. It’s something.

She shifts the angle of her head to take him deeper in her mouth, her tongue flicking and gliding over him. Reba falls into a rhythm now, losing herself in it, and she very nearly misses his whisper. He’s said her name. Francis has said her name. Reba blinks, certain at first she’s misheard and pauses. He’s said fragments of it before, but never the sum of the parts. Reba. Reba. It sounds so beautiful from his lips that she feels her eyes sting with tears. She can’t begin to guess at the courage required of him to say it, but she knows it must be more than she can imagine. Reba.

She moves faster now, nails digging in ever so slightly into his thighs, and his hands are stroking over her back and this is bliss. This is them, together, with the rain and peace and she’s so hopelessly in love she could weep for it.

His jaw works to say something but nothing comes. Nothing coherent that is. His chest tightens and there’s fire consuming him inside as she bobs faster against his center. Dolarhyde fights the urge to thrust forward, a primal instinct that awakens every time they are intimate. There’s a thunder nearby and the rain is still heavy. And he can’t hold it no more. “S-stop,” he requests before pushing her off him as gently as he can and picking her up to head towards the bedroom. Just like the first time they had sex.

She immediately stops at his request, eyes widening as she fears she’s done something wrong. Reba’s lips part to ask if he’s alright, but before she can issue a single word he’s swept her up into his arms. She instantly knows what this means and welcomes it, curling against him. She feels almost a child in comparison to his magnificent body. She’s not exactly light, after all, but he carries her so gently it’s as if she weighs nothing.

His clothes fly and fall on the floor quickly and he doesn’t mind if he’s tugging at her jeans violently, nor if her underwear is pulled out in haste before the man can lean over her, resting his weight on his fists on top of Reba. Her clothes are torn off with surprising swiftness but she doesn’t mind, hands reaching to tug off her shirt and bra. She has no idea where they land and doesn’t care. She’s desperate now, aching for him, and as Francis tosses her pants aside she nods, whispering her encouragement. Before she knows what happens, he’s on top of her and his lips are caressing her neck. Reba moans gently and drags her nails lightly down the muscled expanse of his back, all the more aroused by the sheer power of him. His bites draw a gasp of surprise and pleasure from her and her back arches when he takes her. He’s panting and he has lost control once more, because she is the cause of such occurrence.

He’s inside her and the man moans, can’t prevent it any longer. Moments like these are the ones in which he has to stop and think what is he doing, how did he get to be in that kind of situation. But doing it would be ridiculous. If there’s something he’s learning is that he must follow his instincts with her. Because so far, things have been going in the right direction. Shaking off his thoughts, one hand moves down to grab her thigh and wrap her leg around his waist the moment he begins to penetrate her.

                               Mine, mine, mine.

                                                       ** _Mine_**.

“I love when you moan,” She whispers, closing her eyes and allowing the feel of him to spread through her core, familiar now but no less exhilarating. Francis is rougher than usual and she loves it, loves the urgency in every thrust and in his hands pressed against her own. Still, she wrenches one free from his grasp and pulls him down to kiss her, drunk on it all, drunk on him. Her lips move furiously against his own, desperate and needy, and as the bed shifts beneath them each motion of his hips draws a soft cry from her.

Their skins slap against each other, taut stomach against her soft one, her mounds bouncing against his strong chest and her fingers moving down the tattoo, tracing his muscles as if they were crafted for her alone. Dolarhyde grunts at her words, yes, she wants him vulnerable but he doesn’t have the heart or the will to stop himself from feeling like that when he’s with her.

Both bodies move in unison with the thunders’ brilliance as the only light in the wooden room. It was meant for his pleasure only, but he needs to be inside her, and that’s more powerful than a simple blowjob.

He pins her on the bed, hips working inside her and hands tightly grabbing hers on the bed as the motion makes the bed creak lightly. He’s not being gentle, he’s desperate, an animal in heat perhaps, but driven by the desire of wanting nothing more but to entwine their bodies together in one item. Dolarhyde leaves her neck and looks down to study her face. She’s the only thing that matters in his world in that precise moment. He knows he will pay later for this thought, he will face Him and suffer the consequences but it’s worth it.

She’s absolutely worth every single punishment anyone can put on him. 

She’ll be sore tomorrow, yes, she’ll ache, but it will be a welcome soreness, a reminder of their bodies brought together as one. Sex has always been enjoyable enough to her, though certainly more the act itself then anyone to share it with, but this? This transcends everything she’s ever known, he transcends it all. With every thrust Reba drowns all the more and she knows nothing but him, but their union and the blinding pleasure setting her alight. She gasps, clutches at every inch of him her hands can find, and this is more than just mere lust, more than desire.

This is completion; this is what it means to be whole.

So he said her name a few moments ago. She moans his at the thought, the recognition that his beautiful, perfect mouth has formed her name, spoken it into existence. Her other leg moves to wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him close as her hips rise to meet his. “Yes-,” Her voice cracks and Reba’s gasping now, can think of nothing but them together, moving and breathing and being as one. It occurs to her distantly through the haze of pleasure that she’s crying because she loves him, because somehow in this strange, lonely world they’ve found each other and she loves him more than anything.

The man pounds into her and his body can’t stop moving against her small frame. He takes one of her hands and presses it on his face, his cheeks and nose, wanting her to ‘see’ him somehow as he slows down and moves with gentle, deep thrusts. His lips part and he takes her index finger to run over his scar before leaning down to kiss her and gradually, he regains speed, his member piercing her core with utter wanting.

Her hand trembles as he takes it and she smiles, feeling the familiar angles and slopes of his face against her finger tips. Reba shifts beneath him, freeing another hand to cup his face. Her expression softens infinitely. Her thumb sweeps along his jaw and the first hints of stubble brush against her. His skin is burning and it’s welcome. “You’re beautiful,” She whispers and she’s in awe of him, transfixed by every inch of his body. When he takes her finger to his scar, her eyes well up with tears once more and she repeats herself, “Francis, you’re so beautiful.” And he is, he’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever known. Reba remembers he’d flinched the first time she touched him, had trembled at her thumb along his lips. He trusts her now, wants her to know what he thinks makes him a monster.

How can such strength and fragility exist within the same form?

“My… name,” he demands and leans down to lick her elegant neck. She’s made of gold, silk, cotton, rose petals. She’s been sculpted by the gods and her voice, her moaning and gasping is only meant to drive the man wild. He could spend hours worshiping her.

_If you dare do it, I’ll fucking kill you._

No, not the time for that now. Dolarhyde moans again and again, mumbling the syllables of her name separately, too engaged in the moment to put them together rationally. Each inch of his manhood burns against her entrance, every single wet sound driving him crazy and one hand moves to her thigh to keep her in place against him, tightly pressed against each other.

She returns his kiss eagerly, hands running through his hair and she moans as his thrusts regain their prior urgency. Eyes briefly widen at his command, but his tongue sends shivers down her spine and she groans again, lifting her hips up lightly to meet his own. Reba knows he loves to hear his name, wonders if he still can’t believe that he’s the want she wants, the one drawing the cries from her, but he is. She wants, would have, no one but him. “Francis-,” She nods now, nails digging roughly down his back to encourage him, “ ** _Francis_** , yes, please, please don’t. Fuck, Francis, you feel so good, you feel so-”

Her words are interrupted by a sudden, shallow cry and her back arches, her core snapping in perfect tension. She’s clawing at him, writhing and begging and utterly in love. “Francis. Yes, yes-” Emboldened and blinded by the surging pleasure, Reba finds his neck with her mouth and kisses along it, gasping and panting against his skin before biting his shoulder.

Her nails on his back feel delicious, deep in his flesh, claiming him as hers. Her property, her man, her beast. And in return, Dolarhyde moves like a machine, hitting every single sweet spot he knows well and can drive her feral. She knows people say there’s a thrill to be found in sex with a stranger, with someone new and unfamiliar and exciting. Reba also knows that she might once have found that true, as well, or at least considered it to be true, but now, as he works against her with the knowledge of every angle, every shift and motion she loves, Reba wants no one but him. He knows her, knows where to touch and kiss and move, and she knows him as well. He likes when she touches his chest, trembles when her lips brush his Adam’s apple and smiles when she kisses his beautiful scar. Yes, Reba knows him and wants no one but him. Not now, not ever.

His own nails dig deep in her thigh, so hard he’s going to leave marks but who cares. No one but him will be able to see them. And she says he’s beautiful, tears in her eyes, emotion in her voice and he believes her, for the first time he believes her because she has no reason to lie to make him feel better. They’ve passed that stage and the man rests his forehead against hers, breathing hard and closing his eyes as he keeps moving.

Her hands are everywhere and he feels every portion of his anatomy she touches, a chill on his nape as she runs her fingertips on his short, dark hair. His name, again and again, from her sweet mouth, the one he loves to kiss so much, so addictive and full. Doalrhyde thinks there’s nothing in the universe that can distract him from this moment, from sharing this moment he treasures so much.

Because sooner or later, the dream will end.

And he’ll go back to being himself alone and nothing else.

_Soon._

She has been created for him, he has no doubt. She was meant for no one but the man, not even the entity behind him. And he closes his eyes tight, waiting for His yelling.

But nothing comes.

Dolarhyde’s mouth works out something but he can’t bring himself to say it and when her teeth sink in his shoulder, the man moans loudly and speeds up, pounding inside her, not minding now if he’s going to leave her sore or not. There’s urgency, there’s need and he stills suddenly atop and arches his back, emptying himself into the woman.

Complete.

She clutches him tightly as his body suddenly tenses, her own fingers trembling against his strong form. When he falls against her, Reba immediately pulls him close, her own breath quick and erratic. He was rough enough that she doesn’t doubt she’ll ache at first tomorrow, but there was no cruelty nor selfishness in it. They simply need each other. She smiles tiredly at the thought, at the certainty that yes, they need each other and she wonders how she existed before he completed her.

He rests his weight on his fists, trembling after his orgasm and pants against Reba’s forehead. There’s a thin layer of sweat over his body, which is slowly relaxing after their climax. Dolarhyde looks down at her, glowing with a halo of light, and there’s nothing, absolutely nothing in this universe more beautiful than her in this moment. The man lowers his weight and rests it on his forearms as he remains on top of her, kissing her jaw and neck. “You’re… beautiful.” Which sounds ridiculous because she’s gorgeous, but he’s an inept in expressing his emotions.

**_And I… you…_ **

Reba laughs quietly, tilting her chin up to allow him more space before whispering in return, “You make me feel whole.” She nuzzles against him, the whole of her body flooded with warmth, and she doesn’t think she’s ever been happier than this. Her fingers press to his shoulder, uncertain of just where she bit him, and murmurs softly, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

It’s a ridiculous question somehow but she wants to ask it all the same. To anyone else, it might seem impossible that she could hurt him, but he’s different where they’re together like this, breathless and tangled with each other. He’s vulnerable, somehow, with his trembling body and half words, fragile even, and she presses a kiss to his jaw at the thought.

The man rolls to lay on his back and takes her hand off his shoulder to kiss her fingertips. “You didn’t.” He pauses and tries to steady his racing heart. “I liked it.” Possessive, wild Reba claiming him in every possible way. He wants her like that all the time, passionate and wanting, decided to mark him all over as her property. And he unconsciously allows it, because if he stopped to think about it, he’d be panicking. Him, collared in a way. No, impossible.

She’s amazing. He never imagined he’d feel so good with another mortal and this must be what happiness is all about. This is probably what other people call a real relationship and not a one night stand. They have passed that stage long ago. A month feels like forever.

She shifts a bit, cupping his jaw and turning his face towards her. A half smile appears and her thumb moves to brush over the corner of his lip. “You’re amazing, you know that?” She suspects he doesn’t, that a lifetime of cruelty has taught him to believe otherwise. Her thumb traces over to his scar, that small fold of skin she utterly and wholly adores, and without thinking she murmurs softly.

“I love you.”

Those terrible words.

Pronounced softly, as if they hurt.

Dolarhyde’s heart stops and he goes rigid, unable to move, unable to properly reply to that. She loves him. Someone has just expressed their affection in the most sacred way for him. Someone decided that he’s worth the effort of getting to know him, and someone is, sooner or later, going to hurt him. But she means it. He knows she does because she hasn’t said something like this in a month together. A month now. Insane. The longest relationship… bah, the _only_ real relationship he has ever had in his life. Forty-three years without love.

And now this.

She’s greeted with silence. It’s not an unusual response from him, in fact it’s more common than anything else, but Reba’s learned to read his silences. Some are thoughtful, as he tries to choose his words and subsequently form them correctly. Others are pensive, as he considers just what exactly she may have been asking or saying. But she cannot determine what this silence means.

The man takes her hand on his and rests her palm on his face, expressionless, no smile, nothing. She has the right to ‘see’ him like this, skeptical, but not upset. Reba’s grateful that he takes her hand, allows him to see her as she may, and she bites the inside of her lip when she feels no expression. His face is blank, the increasingly familiar wrinkle of his smile wholly absent. She struggles to keep her features placid. Her instinct is to apologize, to say she’s sorry she’s clearly made him uncomfortable, that she did not intent to, but to apologize would imply regret.

She doesn’t regret what she’s said, she never will.

And she waits, her thumb lightly stroking along his cheek. She loves him, completely and utterly, and while she may have said it now, it’s been born into her kisses, the way she sleepily murmurs his name against this neck in the morning, how her fingers brush over his throat.

His words may fail him but his body won’t. And slowly, very slowly he begins to relax, because there’s nothing he can say in return. Does he like her? Yes. Immensely so.

Does he love her?

Tricky question. Actions can speak louder than words and if that’s the case, he may be closer to that concept than he believes. She’s the most important person in his universe right now, a mortal that is, and he highly doubts anyone has held that position in his life with the intensity she has bestowed on him. Reba McClane, witch and saint, sweet and bitter, beautiful and terrible. And above everything, simply perfect. Dolarhyde looks at her, reading him with her fingertips.

“I adore you.”

Adoration is the word. Worship, rather because she’s his light in the middle of the storm, the one who can bring calm and awake the strangest of sensations, those he has suppressed his entire life. But love? That’s something that will never be reached, for love must be shared and his heart is a maze without an exit. If you want to find him in there, you’ll have to tear walls down, and no one has ever achieved it. Life has shaped him that way.

Reba relaxes at his reply and shifts to rest atop him, needing an absence of space between their bodies. Her fingers move to his scar, the single point of him she cherishes above all else. As soon as the blankets are covering them, Dolarhyde wraps his arms around her body. He sighs deeply, forcing her to rise and fall with his chest and he angles his head to kiss her hair. One palm moves up and down her back, stroking it to extend his heat to her shivering body, lithe and yet generous in curves. He loves each of them.

“I mean it,” Reba says quietly, “I…you should know. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it.” The eye of the storm itself has past now but the sound of the rain remains against the roof.

“I know.” It’s a half truth. He doesn’t know for sure, but he chooses to believe her right now. They are big words, and she doesn’t look like one who’d open her mouth and say them just because. Are her actions proving him of that fact or is he allowing himself to be fooled by an act? Hard to tell. And yet, he wants to trust her. Needs to do it because no one has ever been so close to him in his life. Dolarhyde takes one of her hands and kisses her knuckles. “I’m… confused but glad that you’re here with me.” And that he’s not alone and miserable. Before Reba it was he, himself and nobody else. And so far, he was fine. But now that he has tasted the forbidden fruit, he can’t see himself living without it from now on. “I want to protect you.”

From Him and everybody else. He has told her something similar before, but now there’s a whole new meaning behind those words.

There’s no one like him, not one but him. Sometimes she works to fathom a description of him, to try and work his complexities and nuances into a single word, a phrase, but it’s impossible. He’s everything all at once and it’d be overwhelming if he wasn’t so gentle with her, cautious and kind. Her throat tightens as he takes her hand and she finds herself nearly overcome with emotion. Francis doesn’t say things unless he means them. This is a promise to her, a confession. “You’re everything to me,” she murmurs in reply, fingers shifting in his grasp to stroke over his scar. “You make me feel safe, make me feel-, you make me feel so happy, Francis, every moment I’m with you.” She leans forward to gently kiss the bridge of his nose now. “You count the number of steps for me, you hold my hand when I’m nervous, you-, you help me and you never once complain, make it feel as though I’m weak for it.”

Behind the mask of the perfect boyfriend, a monster lies dormant for her and yet very much alive whenever he’s alone. Dolarhyde listens to the woman’s words and feels strange knowing that she does mean what she says. And it’s all inconceivable for him, for he knows himself and can make a good difference between reality and lie. But he’s still playing the game. Why? Because she’s touched him. In all the ways a person can be touched. “I do what I can,” is all he can answer to her. It’s overwhelming, borderline asphyxiating.

“Never felt this way about anyone,” She remarks softly, because somehow it feels right to let him know it, “No one’s ever made me feel like you do.”

“I’ve… never felt like this before, either.” Or felt anything at all. He’s been living because the air is free, nothing else. A hybrid between human and machine who breathes, eats, works and survives. He never -lived-. Dolarhyde entangles his fingers with hers and looks at the ceiling, trying to shape his thoughts into words, something to offer to her in a way that she may understand his complicated mind. “I don’t know how I am supposed to act or what to do. And… I’m sorry… for that.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Reba whispers with a soft shake of her head, that signature hint of a smile appearing in the corner of her lip, “I don’t know either. I’ve never felt anything like this before, not for anyone. We can figure it out together.” She squeezes his hand gently in return and marvels at him. So many complexities existing within the same form, merged and creating something impossibly beautiful to her.

She’s not a virgin in this, he can tell, even if she says she’s never felt anything like this for anyone before him. The man can’t believe that such a perfect creature like her could not be loved in the way she wants to be loved, and that sets a good bunch of questions on Dolarhyde. Mostly in regards of what he’s doing, what he wants to do and what he -should- do in this situation. “I suppose we’ll figure it out.” He’s supposed to be clever in this. Big mistake. He’s absolutely clueless and that scares him greatly.

Reba shifts her weight and gently kisses his brow, then moves to his cheek. “I love you, Francis,” she repeats quietly, earnestly, and moves again. Her lips travel slowly downwards, tiny pecks designed to convey all she knows to be true now, all she’s confessed, moreso than encourage desire. Her mouth plants a kiss against his heart, then swoops lower to his ribs. She feels the small trail of hair beneath his navel scratch against her and then she’s against his hipbone, the arch strong against her lips. Next comes his thigh and god, he’s so strong and she kisses him the more tenderly for it. Yes, this is worship now, and he’s the closest thing to the divine she’s ever known.

His lips part as her mouth begins to travel all over him and reaches his hips. He closes his eyes, fighting an erection, because he can’t be such an animal all the fucking time. Her lips pause then and she rests her head against his thigh, closing his eyes and taking in the intimacy of the moment. This is more than anything she’s ever known, anything she could ever have imagined, and it’d be overwhelming for the single, immovable constant in it all. Him. She has him and that’s enough, that’s everything. A soft sound escapes his mouth and he suddenly rolls to pin her on the bed, returning the touches. She loves him. And he can’t fully accept it. But he can do something about it.

She gasps in surprise when he suddenly moves over her, a small grin appearing instantly. She’s dominant herself in many ways within their relationship, generally the first to suggest something, to encourage him, but what shyness Francis exudes is all but lost when they’re in bed together. Reba loves it, loves to see his seemingly endless control fracture and his need for dominance emerge. It makes her feel wanted, this, makes her feel beautiful and whole and she sighs as his hands wander off her, gentle and slow.

His large nose nuzzles against her long neck and Dolarhyde kisses the curves of her shoulders travelling down towards her breasts, kissing the soft peach shaped mounds as his left hand travels down to rest on her hip. He pauses to look at her dark, delicious skin, the darker color on her nipples, the valley between them and the path down to her stomach. Reba moans very softly as his mouth finds her breast, her hands reaching to cradle his head, slide through his short hair. No one’s ever touched her like him, moved over her like she was something to be adored. As his kisses trail lower and lower she squirms in anticipation, gasping softly once more as his mouth presses between her thighs. “Francis-, this…,” She pauses to laugh, a soft light sound born of joy and want as he moves up her leg, “Babe, this was supposed to be about you, I wanted-.” But the man goes southwards to kiss her ribs and navel before moving further over her sex, planting a lingering kiss to recognize his territory.

Raising both of her legs over his broad shoulders, the killer lays on his stomach between them and begins to kiss her knees, her inner thighs until he finds her womanhood. The temptation is grand, and without considering it twice, his wet tongue spreads her labia to reach her pearl. It’s warm and wet, and Dolarhyde moves closer to cover her entrance with his mouth and suck once. And now that he’s in the game, it’s impossible to go back and regret anything.

He’s learned this during the final days of the war, Iraq 1989, when one of the whores he bed taught him how to make her scream in pleasure. And Dolarhyde complied to her wishes not because he cared about her but because he was curious. He became pretty good at it, or so the prostitute told him.

He’s selfish, yes. Or perhaps it’s the other way around, but he can’t allow her to have her way with him without ‘attacking’ her back. And the way is to eat her out, feast on her sex as if the elixir of life came from within the woman. His tongue rolls up and down her slit, going as deep as possible and humming against it, drowning in desire as he continues tasting her. And she begs him to not stop, and he won’t for he’s going to drive her insane with his touches, for as long as he can hold.

Lick after lick, the man encourages her to open up to him and takes a moment to bestow gentle kisses against her mound, treating her with as much delicacy as he can. He’s surprised with himself, about the way she can elicit this kind of behavior when he has brutally raped others in those nights when he changes the Selected Ones. Reba’s special. Reba’s unique.

Her back arches and she cries out as he sucks, hands trembling and reaching down to drag over his shoulders. “Francis-, oh-, oh my god, please-.” He abides her wishes and Reba sobs softly, eyes closing as her legs shift against his shoulders, the pleasure overwhelming. This is so new; no one ever even tried anything like this with her before and she comes to realization that she loves it, when his beautiful, perfect mouth worships her. When **_he_** worships her, bent and bowed and so utterly adoring she could weep for it.

She parts her legs all the more to allow him better access, his gentle kisses coaxing all the more warmth from the core of her. “Oh god, don’t stop, please-, please don’t stop-,” Her neck cradles back and she sighs, blissful. He’s the most perfect thing she’s ever known and now, now he knows she loves him and this is his reply. He may not have said it, may never be able to, but Reba knows this is love. “Francis.” She’s louder, his tongue and lips drawing out gasps and soft cries from her, “I love you, fuck-, I love you so much,” Her hips arch against him now in her complete need, head swimming with lust and love, “Francis-!”

His nails scratch the outer face of her thighs as he buries his face against her womanhood and nods as he sucks, eyes closed, and mind blank since his emotions take control of the situation. Dolarhyde pauses only to look up at her when she says that she loves him, again and again and the man closes his eyes before returning to his task.

To be loved.

So mysterious.

She feels as though she’ll pass out, as though at any moment her head might fall beneath the waves and she’ll drown, sink lower and lower but its bliss. Drowning never felt as sweet as this. Still, the sensation of his nails scratching over her skin causes her to gasp loudly, trembling and unable to resist squirming wildly against him. Reba’s wholly at his mercy now, captive beneath his ministrations. Her back arches once more and she cries out softly, incoherently, her tongue failing her.

Reba McClane is definitely the woman in his life, the one who has torn down so many walls that it scares him to no end. The being that holds such importance in his life that He is awfully furious whenever he remembers her touch in the middle of the night. He has grown used to her scent in bed whenever he goes to sleep, and even more, prefers to spend the night in her bed rather than his own cold one. Because it’s her home, one he invaded and does not intend to leave at all.

Two fingers intrude into her without warning and curl against her soft spot, the one that can drive her to madness. He continues sucking, delivering as many sensations as he can, and he realizes he’s getting better and better at this, which is good. It’s a way to return everything she’s given to him freely. She cries his name out, her back arching as her heels scrape over his broad back, nails clawing at his muscled shoulders. His fingers continue moving in and out and the man abandons her sex to move up to her shoulder and bite it not so gently. He’s panting now, extremely turned on by her moaning and sounds of pleasure. There’s a bit of pain from Reba’s end when he bites her, yes, but its far less than the pleasure flooding through her and Reba determines she likes it, something to work an edge through it all.

“Who owns you,” he asks hotly against her ear, utterly aroused, dominant and powerful.

His command surprises her all the more. This is bold of him, bolder than he’s ever been, and while their intimacy is almost always maddeningly passionate, this is different.

Is this what love coaxes from him? Confidence?

He waits for her answer, and each second hurts with anticipation. No, this is not how he’s supposed to feel. No, it’s not how his life’s meant to be right now. He should be doing something else and yet, there he is, in the middle of nowhere with this woman who claims that she loves him.

No, it’s not right.

And yet, it is.

Dolarhyde hasn’t felt so alive in his entire life. His body is out of control, the way she answers to his touch fills the vacant space in his heart that’s been void of content since ever. It’s all about feeling each other, desperately wanting to make their partner feel the complete emotion that floods through the other. His fingers stroke her inside, reaching deeper for her most pleasurable spot. And she’s so wet and aroused, so desperate for him.

“You,” she whispers in reply and the idea is strange, but not unwelcome. Reba shifts beneath him and a hand reaches down to gently stroke him, determined to return some of the bliss flooding through her to him. “You.” His fingers know where to touch her, just how to touch her, and she gasps loudly, hips arching into his hand. Her own moves faster now, firm and determined.

“And you’re mine,” she pants, biting the corner of her lip as a perfect strain of tension begins to snap inside of her, come uncoiled around his calloused fingers, “Mine-.”

When he finally gets the answer he’s been wanting, the man frowns and closes his eyes tight with a loud groan. Yes, his, his, his. And nobody else’s. She’s his to do as he pleases, his to serve too, to make her understand that the only man who’ll ever touch her like this will be him from now on. That the previous mortals that attempted to enter her heart failed miserably and that he’s the definitive one. It’s amusing to see how the killer thinks about a future with her, when in reality there’s nothing for certain, and their relationship has been doomed from day one. He’s her animal for her to tame. To bite and lick, taste and tear apart if she wishes to do so. It’s hard to focus on her pleasure when she’s stroking him so hard and fast, but he makes use of his almost inhuman strength to keep moving, to even press his thumb against her clitoris and increase the pleasure. He must, must make her…

And he comes. In the absolute mess of the bed sheets, Dolarhyde reaches his climax and it’s a mix of ice and fire, of absolute power and utter weakness. “Re…” is all he can pronounce, because he has lost the capacity to even put two syllables together. The man collapses against her shoulder and pants hard, trying to recover his breath as his fingers continue moving inside her.

He knows then.

In the mist of the aftermath of their lovemaking, a particular type in which he resisted the temptation of entering her, and instead decided to selflessly aim for her desire, he lays spent, thoughtful. Just hers and hers alone. He did it unconsciously but now he knows, and even if he’ll never say it, he knows. And he’ll pay for it.

                                                He loves her.

Panting breathlessly against him, Reba gently takes his hand from her thighs and raises it to her mouth, kissing lightly against his wrist. He would have been contented just to please her, she realizes, and no one’s cared enough for that before, not anyone before him. He does so much just for her, she knows this. He hates the restaurants they go together, fears he can’t eat the way she’d like him to, the way he thinks she must desire him to be, and struggles to so much as hold her hand when there’s others around, but does. He does all this without complaint, solely for her contentment and joy.

The bed is more of a nest than anything at this point, a tangle of sheets of blankets resting beneath their tired limbs. She smiles and shifts slightly, moving his head to rest against her chest. It’s a tender gesture, intimate in its softness, and Reba kisses into his short hair. “Francis.” She murmurs it gently, not for any particular reason, but simply because she loves the sound of it and because she loves him. This beautiful, strong, quiet, gentle man is hers, hers to care and love and offer up what kindness he’s never known, been robbed of all his life. It’s a difficult task, perhaps, but she’d want for nothing more.

“I love you,” she whispers again and nuzzles him, fingers tracing up and down his shoulders, “I love you more than anything.” It feels good to say it, feels right for her mouth to conjure up every syllable. Reba moves again and tugs a blanket up over them. It’s slightly crooked, she can feel the uneven line of the corner, but it’s enough to cover them.

She cares for him most when he’s like this, quiet and spent, vulnerable and seeking for her affection. “Yours,” Reba smiles, “I’m yours.”

He reciprocates, but his mouth cannot allow those words to come out. She loves him, and he in return would kill anyone who dares to inflict damage on her. What he does for her sometimes could be considered a sacrifice for the man, but most of the time he willingly throws himself to the dangers of being a normal being just for her. And he knows she appreciates it, hence why he continues doing it.

Dolarhyde curls against her frame, large, nude, finding in that comfortable spot, the warmth he has never been provided in his life. He was comforted by Queen Mother whenever he felt sad or hurt, but she never held him close, she simply rubbed his back, stroke his hair and spoke gently to him. And for him, that was golden. Those are best memories of his childhood, the only ones really, if they weren’t tainted by her betrayal. His name on her lips is like a mantra now that she likes to use to confirm his presence and the emotions he gets. And that is absolutely fantastic. Surreal.

Reba supposes they must make for an interesting sight, his far larger frame curled against her own, but she knows it must also be beautiful in its own way. They’re different, about as different as two can be, but there’s a beauty in their unity, a hopefulness.

There’s a vulnerability to him now, an openness he hasn’t revealed to her. Reba loves him in the aftermath of their intimacy, the way he seems to crave every touch from her and even openly yearn for it. She thinks of their first night together, how she had gently taken his hand and asked him to guide her where he wished, and his subsequent panic. No one has touched him like that, not even sexually, but gently. No one has touched him with kindness. It spurns her on all the more and she bends her head to kiss his brow, embracing their closeness.

Those three simple words strike him again and he sighs deeply, hiding his face between her breasts to escape from the world. He records the sound of her voice as she expresses her confession, keeping it in his memory until the day he dies as the most crucial moment in his life. Not just because of her, but because of him, having his own feelings reciprocated at last.

The man wraps an arm around her waist and looks up to kiss her jaw before hiding his face against her neck. For the first time in their relationship, he allows this kind of weakness to take place. “And I’m yours,” he answers, as the closest way to say that he loves her back in return. It’s peculiar how a few words can be so difficult to pronounce when they have become a reality. But despite his affection for her, he can’t give himself to anyone. Doing it would be reckless, it would be exposing his true self and losing the one he loves, losing his freedom and the opportunity of Becoming. And he must do it.

Must he?

Reba is everything he has ever dreamed of, whether he likes to admit it or not. And the Dragon wants this, which means that of course, he will try to tear her apart from him at all cost. Was she a one night stand, it’d be easy but she has rooted herself deep in him now, and it’s impossible to escape. “Thank you,” he states, “… for existing.” For being real, not a fantasy, for giving him the chance to experience how it really feels like to be human for once.

Even if that feeling won’t last forever.

He clings to her and there’s no shame in it, no worry on her part. They need each other, that much is more evident than ever. Reba considers that he’s never had this before, never had the opportunity to be so wholly vulnerable in the presence of another and finally, after all this time together, after late nights spent curled against his chest, careful kisses and gentle touches, he trusts her enough to be vulnerable. “Look here a moment, D,” she murmurs quietly and tilts his chin upwards towards her in reply to his confession.

“You’ll have to promise me you’re looking.” Reba laughs quietly, stroking along his jaw. “I can’t exactly tell, after all, but I wanted you to tell you something. I keep my word if I give it, you can always count on that, and-,” She moves her hand down his arm to find his fingers, holding them gently now, and states softly, “Always, I promise, Francis. You and I? That’s for always.”

‘Always’. Is that possible? Could she turn herself into an immortal being and survive the Dragon? Because that’s the only way he can think of them together. There’s a strong force in between and even though all of this is a beautiful dream, it won’t last forever. The man pulls her closer then, not wanting to let go, not yet, not ever. He rubs his cheek against her fingertips as she strokes his jaw and tightens his grip on her fingers, closing his eyes shut against her chest.

**_Don’t vanish._ **

**_Please, don’t vanish._ **

Someone who wants her, who loves her, just for existing. Reba shifts and wraps her arms around him, cradling him back against her frame once more. “Thank you for offering me that ride home, for giving me your jacket.” She sighs blissfully, eyes fluttering shut as her breathing begins to steady. “Thank you for everything.”

If it hurts any human being to be born, something like that happens with Dolarhyde every time she touches him carefully, as if he was made of the finest crystal. The man kisses her skin as he rests his cheek against her bosom and seeks for her warmth, the kind he’s been void of since the day he was born. Perhaps he finds some maternal touch in her, but the kind of adoration he receives from Reba goes beyond that. It’s love, in its purest way.

Something pure coming out of him, just like that.

He feels something’s in his eye, and he knows what’s coming next. So he mans up and fights back the need for a tear to roll down his cheek. He needs to stop acting like a child and be the strong one here, even if she’s his rock and there’s no doubt left about it at all. Little blind Reba, beautiful as a rose but with sharp, big thorns to defend herself against the wide, huge world. The woman who dares to pull from Dolarhyde the human remains that aren’t dead inside him. “Thank you for… accepting me.”

He can’t stand it any longer. The man pulls her close to his chest, so she can hear the thumping of his heart. It’s burning, like three million fireworks exploding together at the same time, creating a rain of light on earth, running wild and desperate to win a race he has no idea where it will take him, beating stronger than ever for a single being in this world. For the only reason he has to continue existing. To keep Dolarhyde alive a little longer before his Becoming. “I’m not going to let anything or anyone hurt you.” Especially ’anything’. “I can’t… I don’t have… words but I…” Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it. “I’ll protect you with my life.”

The way he clings to her, the way he seems to yearn for every ounce and affection she offers to him, Reba knows he’s been denied warmth. This simple gesture, the act of shared affection, something akin to intimacy; he’s never had any of it. She wants to ask him for it sometimes. Reba wants to ask him for his childhood, to know of every grief and every pain he’s always been afraid to speak into existence, everything he’s buried away beneath solitude and strength, because a wound can only be healed if it’s known. If she knows his sorrows, she mends them. Now, as Francis grips her fingers so tightly, moves into her touch, she knows there must be many.

It’s not about acceptance anymore. Perhaps it was, when first he kissed her and his fingers trembled over her cheek, but that time’s long passed. Reba understands now that she could cry if she allowed herself to, to happily drown beneath the waves of emotion crashing around her, but there’d be no grief in her tears.

She didn’t believe in fate until Francis.

The woman curls against him, his heart thudding against her cheek and ear. She instinctively turns her head to kiss him, press her lips against his ribs and into his heart. It’s a necessary reminder, a whisper that they’re human, that this is real and tangible. She feels so alive because he is alive and perhaps her own heart is beating in tune with his. “Thank you,” Her voice wavers and so she repeats it, pouring every ounce of her earnestness into it. “Thank you.” He’s been abused, been denied of safety and shelter all his life and in turn, for him to offer it to her is as much love as anything she could imagine.

He does love her.

There’s lighting outside, as if it was a signal from Him reminding him who does he belong to. Dolarhyde kisses the top of her head, looking outside and strokes her back gently. “We should sleep now if… we want to sail tomorrow. The lake is wide enough that it will take us a few miles to go to the other shore. There’s a… restaurant too.”

“Let’s do it,” she yawns, eyes closing slowly. “We’ll make the day of it.” What she doesn’t say is that she knows it’s his birthday in a few hours, that she’ll make it special for him, and Reba’s chest begins to rise and fall with that familiar cadence of slumber. “Goodnight, Francis.” And as a small treat to herself, a reminder that he knows, that he understands, she adds sleepily, “I love you.”

“It’s going to be a long day.” He feels her calm breathing against his chest, her warmth covering his skin. The man relaxes against her form as well and kisses the top of her head, the gesture lingering for a moment longer, waiting until she falls asleep.

And when she does, his night begins.

…

There’s a policy at the complex that dogs must remain outside the house for sanitary issues and so, the rude market woman’s Chihuahua sleeps at its kennel. The moment she’s alerted of Dolarhyde’s presence, she starts barking but soon enough, there’s a little cry and silence. A twist of its small head and that’s it.

A small victory.

…

The morning warms their skins in bed. He groans lightly at the blinding light and rests his cheek on the pillow, right over Reba’s head to avoid the sunlight hitting his eyes. He didn’t dream, and that’s interesting because he never does when he sleeps with her. She does say that she rests better when he’s with her and he believes it. Because the same effect invades him.

They’re a mess of limbs, but there’s a contrast between them and for that, she thinks there must be a beauty to it all. They’re different, perhaps even opposites, and for that they complete each other.

Reba wakes up lazily, steadily growing more and more aware of the sunlight warming her cheek. That means the clouds have gone, she realizes sleepily, and perhaps they’ve been granted a beautiful day together. She stretches catlike, humming contentedly at the jolt of feeling to her limbs, and rolls over carefully to curl towards him. He moves slightly and she knows he must be slowly wakening as well, moving into action before he’s fully awake. “Good morning,” She mumbles and presses her mouth against his neck. There’s the slight brush of stubble against her lips, “Sleep in, babe.”

The man moves to his side to rest an arm over her waist, pull her closer as she greets him. “Hmdon’t go,” he requests as she kisses his neck and his fingertips move up to her armpit to keep her hooked to him. But she’s determined to detach herself from the man and Dolarhyde relaxes his grip to let her go. Grabbing his pillow like a kid, he goes back to sleep in the mess of the sheets. She slips from bed as quietly as she can, finding her suitcase and slipping on shorts and a shirt.

_There are shadows and smoke. He’s home and it’s awfully silent. One by one he sorts the steps upstairs knowing where his feet are taking him but instead of the attic, he stops at his bedroom, the one he used when he was a child. In his bed, there’s a body covered in blood, and he knows who is it but doesn’t dare to lift the piece of white cloth covering her face. He stares at her limp body, and finally walks to uncover Reba but instead, the face under the fabric is a decomposing visage, his grandmother’s staring into his eyes. And then there’s the high pitched sound and…_

He wakes up agitated and gripping the bed sheets tight, covered in sweat and he wonders if he’s been screaming or crying in his sleep, even if his cheeks are dry. Dolarhyde makes his way to the bathroom to clean his face and arms, trying to look fairly decent for her and the smell is delicious, she must be cooking.

Pulling the peaches from the bag, she carefully finds a knife and cutting board, cutting them into small slices. Her mother used to make her peach French toast on her birthday. The smell would always wake her up before one of her parents could, bright and familiar.

Reba hopes Francis will love it as much as she did.

Before long, the eggs have been beaten and the cabin is filled with the scent of breakfast. She bites the corner of her lip as she works, purposefully stacking each piece on a plate and making certain everything’s in order. She begins to even hum quietly beneath her breath, working to conceal a smile, and waits for him to join her.

His nose drives him to the kitchen and there she is, managing pretty well to get used to the space. He doesn’t see her with the same eyes as usual after the nightmare; he could have lost her for real. Was it his doing? Did she die in his hands? “Good morning,” he states before stepping behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his chest against her back and his lips on her neck, eyes fluttering closed. Yes, she’s real. It’s not a trick from his mind.

“Good morning, D.” She smiles, leaning back into his embrace. It’s warm as usual, hot even, and she turns her head to the side to nuzzle against his shoulder. “You sleep well, babe? I slept wonderfully.”

“I suspect… we sleep better when we are together.” That’s nothing new. They’ve been telling each other the same for a while now and even if he wants to wake up with her every day, he can’t do it. His house is not safe for her. Not only structurally but because of… Him. He’s being very vocal about offering Reba to Him and Dolarhyde won’t allow it as long as he lives.

But moving in together… It would be splendid. Still, he knows that his oddities would end up tiring her sooner or later. Yes, this is good. Convenient, so far. The killer looks at the oranges she’s squeezing to prepare juice and then notices the two dishes on the table. “It looks… delicious.”

She picks up the sliced orange once more, her free hand finding the rim of the glass as she squeezes the juice into it. “Yeah? Peach French toast, orange juice and eggs. Figured someone deserved a special breakfast.”

She pauses briefly, wondering for the first time if he’s going to be upset with her. It was exceptionally easy getting his birthday. She hadn’t asked for anything else, of course, just called down to HR and said she was looking to put a birthday list together for employees and had forgotten his. It was a lie, certainly, but she had done it with the best of intentions, of course.

“Happy birthday, Francis,” Her voice softens and Reba turns, wrapping her arms around his waist. She tugs him closer, standing on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. “I asked Gateway when it was because I wanted to make sure I got you something.” She smiles gently, a hand rubbing up and down his back. “I want today to be special for you.”

Happy birthday.

He has heard that only once in his life, when Queen Mother prepared a cake for him. And that was all he ever got. And now again, it comes from the lips of the woman he fell in love with. Happy birthday to you, Francis, happy because it should be happy but his birth brought nothing but pain and shame. He’s surprised to say the least with the discovery that she’s interested in such details about him. It’s not bad that she asked around but he truly has no idea how to react. It’s a virgin territory. To have someone to wish him something as good as that.

He remains there, motionless, his arms around her waist as she kisses his cheek and his first instinct is to lift her up to sit on the counter to keep her at his level. Dolarhyde embraces her, pressing her against his chest and her face against his neck. This is all surreal. A woman who loves him and offers him these small and yet tremendous signs of devotion. He kisses her hair and cups Reba’s face to bestow short kisses across her cheeks, nose and lips like an infant showing his love for his mother.

Someone is glad he was born.


End file.
